


Playing Dirty

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(non-con is implied, but really, really vaguely, so I went with choose not to warn, but if even the vague idea disturbs you, please don't read this.)</p><p>Vila loses the chess game to the Klute with the accompanying unpleasant forfeit. Avon can't go back to the ship without him, so he tries his luck.</p><p>Avon's luck has always been bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Dirty

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

The Klute giggled, wriggling in his seat with the sheer exuberance of having outwitted yet another of those smooth-skinned, long-limbed, humans. Thrillz had been a pleasure, too, but fleeting, oh so fleeting.

Vila had been much more satisfying. The Klute gazed at the empty seat beside him, and went off in another gale of laughter as he recalled the stricken look on Vila's face when he realized he'd moved the wrong piece. It had been so close, it had almost seemed a draw was inevitable, but Vila had drunk, perhaps, just a bit more than was quite good for a man risking his life.

Vila's friend, Avon it was, The Klute remembered, came up now and stared at the chair. The Klute looked up, and gave him a grin.

"You'll be leaving now, I take it?" Krantor said, gloating over the box of credits that Vila had staked his life on.

Avon shook his head. His mouth moved soundlessly, and his eyes were still fixed on the chair where Vila had sat. "I can't return to my ship without him," he said bleakly.

"Ah," Krantor said, in mock-sympathy. "I can quite see your point. Other crew would take it amiss?" Krantor guffawed. "He's missing, you see. A joke?"

Avon stared at Krantor, expressionlessly.

"Well, perhaps you can't see the humor in it at the moment, dear sir. But I do assure you, it was very witty. Freedom City welcomes you with open arms, of course. I'd take you into my very bosom, myself." Krantor flickered his eyelashes at Avon. "But there is the little matter of funds. Freedom City isn't actually free, my very, very dear, sir. In fact," Krantor's mood turned threatening, "it can be _very_ expensive."

Avon said, "I challenge the Klute. Same stakes as Vila."

"No, no, no." Krantor waggled his head and shook a finger at Avon. " _That_ was when your friend had five million to wager."

"Then the standard- one million."

Krantor's eyes narrowed.

The Klute watched both of them, avidly. The man in the silver tunic was desperate, but probably not a fool. After all, he had let his friend be the stalking horse. If Krantor tried any tricks on him, he would probably leave, to try his luck elsewhere. The Big Wheel wasn't the only casino in Freedom City, just the one with the biggest prizes.

"I accept your challenge!" the Klute announced in his reedy voice.

Krantor frowned. "Very well, then." He turned to the crowd, spread his arms and smiled broadly. "Friends! This is so touching!" He put his hand over the ruffles of his shirt. "It stirs my poor heart, to think of the love one man might have for his shipmate, that he would follow him to the," Krantor lowered his voice and waggled his eyebrows, "very _jaws_ of death, itself!"

"Can we just get on with it," Avon said.

Krantor pursed his lips. "You, sir, have no sense of style. But. As you will. This brave man, this man of few words, this _Avon_ , challenges the Klute!"

Avon sat down at the Speed Chess table.

The Klute could see the fine hairs standing up at the back of Avon's neck, but his hands were quite steady as they placed a small perspex box with blinking lights on the table on the side farthest from the Klute. "My lucky piece," Avon said at the Klute's stare and leaned his braceleted arm casually on top of the box.

"Then I shall have mine!" The Klute took a formless lump of metallic ore from his pocket and placed it atop the table. The perspex box went dark. The Klute giggled. "Not your lucky day, is it?"

Avon's jaw clenched. "Perhaps not."

***

Thirty-four moves later, the Klute pressed the button and laughed until the tears rolled down his face. 

***

The Klute got down from his seat and stretched his legs. It had been a long shift, and very boring, too. Three contestants coming so close together seemed to have frightened off any others. Well, the Klute wasn't greedy. Three was quite a good night for him. He picked up Avon's good-luck piece, which had miraculously grown, and left for his quarters. Krantor had wanted the thing, too, but the Klute claimed it by right of conquest. He was much stronger than he looked, and had no difficulty carrying the box.

Everyone scattered, while pretending they didn't see him. It had bothered the Klute once, but now he accepted it as just another condition of his employment. He was quite a handsome fellow among his own people, but unfortunately, an odd quirk made him find his own people as repellent as the humans considered the Klute. He'd long since given up any hope of friends, family, or any long-term relationship.

Still, he had Speed Chess and his toys. He hurried home.

***

The alley behind the Big Wheel was a hodge-podge of discarded costumes, stage-pieces, and worn-out erotic furniture.

A scavenging rodent scuttled along a stained rainbow mound of ripped satin chemises, sniffed at a tattered feather boa, then leaped into the air, squeaking in panic as the mound heaved upward.

"Ohhhh, my head, my head...."

A pile of sequined leotards twitched and slid off the three-legged love-seat they had covered. "Shuddup," came an equally pitiful whimper. "Am I dead?"

Moth-eaten mink heaved, and a dark head, as rumpled as the fur, arose. "Are my hands around your throat?"

The leotards shivered. "No?"

"Then you're not dead yet." Avon rose, and wrapped the mink scraps around himself, achieving a 'caveman chic' effect. He staggered, winced, and made his unsteady way past the wide-eyed man peering out from under the chemises.

"Is it over?" Vila whispered as Avon crept past him.

"Apparently." Avon put a hand to his aching back. "How the Klute could..." He shook his head and his gaze lit on a familiar blinking box, and a pair of bracelets draped over the top. "Vila. Get up!"

"Can't I just... not move _anything_ for a while?" Vila muttered.

"Vila!"

"Oh, all right." Vila's head popped up, glittering with shed sequins. Slowly he emerged from his gaudy cocoon. "Hullo, Thrillz," he said. "Did you have a pierced nipple earlier?"

Thrillz groaned, and covered his left breast. "Did you?"

Vila's eyes grew round and he looked down at his right breast. Horror suddenly turned to interest as he examined the ring. "Is it real gold, do you think, Avon?" He looked up at Avon. The mink slipped. Vila's eyes went rounder. 

Avon looked down at himself, at his unadorned nipples and lower. "We could always dip them in Aqua Regia, and see what dissolves," he said acidly. "Or we could get back to the ship as quickly as possible." He tossed Vila one of the bracelets, put another on himself, wincing again as he encountered a rope-burn, and picked up Orac.

"You're not leaving me?" Thrillz said. "My friends... I can't show up like _this_!"

"Believe me, I would trade places with you in a minute," Avon replied. He sighed, tied a chewed fox stole around his hips and said, "Orac? Are you capable of operating the teleport?"

Orac whimpered. "You're not going to make me go near that _rock_ again, are you? I'll do _anything_ except that."

Avon closed his eyes. "Just... take us home, Orac."

***

"You are back! Blake was so worried!" Cally stood up from behind the teleport console, looking even more deceptively frail than usual. Her eyebrows lifted and then lowered into a frown. "Really! Blake and Jenna are down there, searching for you, and the two of you have been..." She sniffed thoughtfully. "Carousing in a cat-house!"

"But we..." Vila started, but having Avon's elbow, aided by the weight of Orac, shoved into his gut stopped him in mid-protest.

Avon came forward and dropped Orac onto the teleport console. "Cally," he said softly. "That's right. All night long I was being wined, and dined, and seduced by an absolutely irresistible, sexually insatiable creature with such depraved appetites that I will not soil your tender Auron ears with the endearments that were bestowed on mine." Avon smiled insincerely. "And now, Vila and I are going to the medical unit- _alone_. You may recall Blake and Jenna once we are there. And tell them we had a dozen women each, for all I care."

Avon walked out, Vila on his heels.

***

Cally stared after them in puzzlement. "Strange. I could have sworn they looked as if they had been with a very horny Klute." She shrugged and smiled, reminiscently, before setting the recall. 


End file.
